


You kiss your mother with that mouth?

by MuseofWriting



Category: Great Pretender (Anime)
Genre: 7 dirty words, Affectionate Insults, Banned Together Bingo, Comfort Sex, Fluff and Humor, Insults, Multi, Oral Sex, Pegging, Profanity, Team Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27130222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuseofWriting/pseuds/MuseofWriting
Summary: When everyone in your group has a different native tongue, discussions about language inevitably ensue — and everyone's favorite linguistic subject is, of course, how to tell an asshole to go fuck themselves.
Relationships: Abigail Jones/Cynthia Moore (Great Pretender), Cynthia Moore/Laurent Thierry, Edamura Makoto & Laurent Thierry & Abigail Jones & Cynthia Moore, Edamura Makoto/Laurent Thierry
Comments: 21
Kudos: 318
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	You kiss your mother with that mouth?

**Author's Note:**

> Submitted to Banned Together Bingo as a fill for "[7 Dirty Words](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seven_dirty_words)".
> 
> Many thanks to [flyingthesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingthesky) for answering my questions about Japanese swearing & insults!

“Shit.”

“Shit.”

“ _Shit_.”

“ _Shit_.”

“ _Shiiii-t_.”

“Shit! Shit! That’s what I’m saying! Shit!”

Laurent smacked Edamura’s head with his magazine. “It is _not_ what you’re saying,” he said. “Your pronunciation is terrible.”

“How can I be screwing this up?” Edamura demanded. “Shit! It’s one syllable! Listen, I’m saying it! Shit!”

“You’re saying _sheet_ ,” Abby said from across the room. Edamura turned his head sharply to glare at her, but she wasn’t even looking at him. She was reclining on the hotel sofa, one bare foot slung over the back of it, shoving handfuls of M&M’s into her mouth, entirely unconcerned by Edamura’s existence.

“Drop it then,” he grumbled, reaching for one of the six smartphones spread across the table. He’d been keeping up a constant stream of Twitter harassment against their current target for over a week. Laurent owed him a month’s vacation where he wouldn’t have to look at social media once after this was over. Before he could pick the phone back up and resume work, though, Laurent rapped his knuckles with the magazine. Edamura looked up at him, annoyed.

“You sound ridiculous when you swear,” Laurent said frankly, cheek resting on his free hand, that infuriating, teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You should get better at it.” Edamura felt himself flush.

“We all know I speak with an accent!” he said. “You can all understand me fine! Who gives a _syeeeeeet_ how I swear?!”

Laurent’s face drooped in an exaggerated expression of disappointment. “Now you’re doing it on purpose,” he said. Edamura glared at him. “Abby, help me out here,” he implored. Abby flipped them off without looking up and let loose a string of insults in Arabic. Even odds whether they were directed at him or Laurent, Edamura figured. More likely both of them, actually. For efficiency’s sake. Laurent snickered. Edamura knocked aside the magazine, snagged a phone, and started writing more posts, tapping the screen with entirely more force than necessary.

“It’s not like I swear that much anyway,” he grumbled. “You’re all just a bad influence.” Even Abby snorted at that, and Laurent burst into laughter. His mirth made his elbow slip against the table, bumping into his wine glass and knocking it over. Liquid poured across the table. “SHIT!” Edamura yelped. He swept an arm across the table, knocking the array of phones to the relative safety of the floor.

“Hey!” Laurent, the bastard, was still laughing, and not even attempting to help. Instead, he reached over and gave Edamura’s cheek a familiar pat. “You said it!”

*

Cynthia’s hair stuck to her forehead in thin, fiery lines, like a volcanic rock cracking apart to show the magma beneath. She rubbed the back of her hand over her eyebrow, chasing away drops of sweat before they could fall into her eye. “So,” she said, “have you fucked him yet?”

That, Laurent thought, was an unfair question to ask when she was hip-deep in his ass with her strap-on. He rather suspected there was no good answer to it and she had chosen a moment when he’d be unable to get away. He gave her an innocent, puzzled smile and said, “Who?”

Cynthia snorted. She pulled her hips back slowly, leaving Laurent to savor and chase the friction. They always had sex slowly. Neither of them were interested in each other as quick, eager relief, and they weren’t nearly so attracted to each other as to ever make it necessary. They’d made it a rule a while back that they never fucked in the middle of a job, only after one: long, lazy, celebratory sex in the warm afternoon on Cynthia’s island, when neither of them had other partners to occupy their time. “Oh please,” she said. “Don’t act like I haven’t seen you making eyes at him ever since he got back from jail — and I know you were even back during the Cassano job, too. You’re as transparent as glass.”

Laurent shrugged, shifting his hips slightly to give Cynthia a better angle. “He’s seen them too, then. He’ll ask if he wants to do anything. I’m not going to be pushy. Well,” he amended at Cynthia’s look, “not about _this_.”

Cynthia bit her bottom lip. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I mean, are you sure he’s noticed? You might… need to be a bit more blunt with him.” She’d paused with nothing but the very tip of the strap-on still inside him, her hands braced on the bed to either side of his hips.

“‘Hey, Edamame, how’s it going, just wondered if you might like to fuck sometime?’” Laurent said sarcastically. Cynthia thrust back into him all at once, startling a grunt from Laurent.

“Don’t be obnoxious,” she reprimanded. Laurent grinned at her, lazy and confident. “You want him to like us, don’t you? You want him to like _you_ , I know you do.”

Laurent sighed. He slid a hand up the back of Cynthia’s thigh, caressing her ass. “I do,” he admitted. “That’s why I’m not saying anything. I know I’m a heartless manipulator, but I don’t believe in manipulating someone into my bed.” He made a disgusted face. “If it’s something he wants, I’m holding the door open, that’s all. Otherwise I don’t want to push it. He’s been backed into a corner enough times in his life—”

“Including by you.”

“— _yes_ , including by me, and I don’t want him to think this is another one.”

Cynthia sighed, reaching down to press a hand against his chest, fingers exploring the shape of the muscles. “Damn you for reminding me why I actually like you,” she said. Laurent raised an eyebrow and gave a pointed look down to where she was grinding the dildo into him. Cynthia rolled her eyes. “Don’t get cocky just because you make a good fuck from time to time,” she said.

“Seeing as you are currently the one with a dick up my ass, I think I can safely say I wouldn’t dream of getting cocky.” Cynthia snorted with laughter.

“Asshole,” she said affectionately.

“T’es relou,” he replied, matching her tone.

“Oh, shut up and let me fuck you.”

He did, her long, slow strokes eating up the better part of an hour before they were both satisfied, laying back sweaty and content with the rush of the ocean outside the window.

*

“It’s a stupid word.”

“It’s not like _I_ came up with it,” Edamura complained.

“But you used it.” Abby folded her arms, giving him a death glare. “You shouldn’t use it. It sounds stupid.” Edamura raised his arms in an imploring shrug.

“You really think _tits_ is a stupider word than _boobs_?” Abby pursed her lips.

“The whole language is stupid,” she declared with finality.

“We can agree on that,” Edamura muttered. “Okay, well, that dress is made for someone with— with— with _a bigger chest_ than you have. There, happy?” Abby’s glare returned.

“No,” she said. Edamura groaned, dropping his head back on the bench.

“Neither am I,” Edamura told the ceiling in Japanese. Something hard collided with his arm, startling an “OW!” from him and making him sit back upright. He picked up Abby’s high heeled shoe and threw it back at her. She caught it deftly.

“Don’t mutter things about me just because I can’t understand them,” she said.

“I wasn’t! And besides, you insult me in Arabic all the time!”

“And French and Portugese and Turkish,” Abby added, as if it was very important that Edamura know she used _every_ language at her disposal to abuse him. Edamura rubbed a hand over his face.

“Look,” he said. “I don’t know why Laurent sent me with you for this. If you want to buy the dress, buy the dress. You look good in anything.”

Abby gave him a single, sharp look, before her shoulders drooped slightly and she stepped back inside the changing room. Edamura could hear clothes rustling. He sighed, checking his watch, wondering if Laurent was _ever_ going to come back. Why he thought it made any sense to leave Edamura and Abby together to go shopping for their undercover outfits, Edamura didn’t know. Giving fashion advice to Abby was neither within his strengths nor his idea of a fun Saturday.

Abby stepped back out a moment later, this time wearing a dress less determined to give her a proportionally improbable chest. This one was turquoise, the hem picked out in gold thread. The fabric gathered in an artful bunch on one side, and stretched into a strap over the opposite shoulder. The straps of Abby’s dark blue bra stood out against skin, exposed by the cut of the dress. Edamura felt himself flush as he took her in. “You— ah— that looks lovely,” he stammered. Abby put her hands on her hips.

“Good,” she said. “I like it.”

She froze, just for a moment, at the way the admission slipped out. Edamura gathered his wits and gave her a smile. “Really,” he said. “It looks really good. And your tits look great.”

He just barely dodged the shoe that hurtled at his head.

*

The airport was quiet for its size on a Wednesday afternoon. The loudspeaker announcements cycling through Thai, English, and Chinese echoed too loud in the terminal. The trash can clanged as Abby tossed the remainder of her lunch into it.

“We’ll catch up with you in Mali, then?” Cynthia was asking. Abby gave her a short, wordless nod. Laurent, standing next to Cynthia, blew Abby a kiss.

“Take care,” he told her.

“Piss off,” she said.

“Ah, you’re as heartless as ever,” Laurent said, his tone suggesting he was not remotely wounded by this fact. Abby, however, turned to him and gave him a wide, innocent smile.

“Tozz feek,” she said. “That means you are my dear friend and I wish you good fortune.”

Laurent returned her smile with one equally wide and innocent. “I trust you completely, Abby,” he said. “Tozz feek to you as well.”

Abby rolled her eyes and flipped him off as she left to board her plane.

*

At some point in the evening, Edamura had dozed off against Laurent. He blamed the jet lag. He’d been back in Japan to take care of a handful of personal matters and then flown all the way to Argentina just in time to catch up with the rest of the team before they started the next con. They’d been up late into the evening discussing their plans, while Edamura was an entire twelve hours backwards and had barely managed to sleep on the plane. As the conversation had drifted out of logistics and into general chatter, he’d felt his eyelids drooping, and drooping more, and now it appeared everyone but him and Laurent had gone to bed, and he’d been taking a nap on Laurent’s shoulder.

He jerked back awake, his head still fuzzy, to find Laurent warm all along his side. Laurent was holding a book in his free hand, and glanced over at Edamura with an amused smile when he felt him move. Edamura blinked in somnolent confusion. His jaw felt too heavy on his face, his mouth hanging slightly open. “Oh,” he said, taking in the mostly-empty hotel sitting room. “Oh, I— sorry.”

He didn’t _want_ to move. He was still tired and Laurent’s shoulder was unreasonably comfortable and he was so _warm_ and it had been a long, long time since he’d felt this safe curled up next to another person. Which was absurd, because Laurent was decidedly not safe. He was, in fact, the undisputed reason that Edamura’s life kept going off the rails. Except he was also the reason there were people there to catch him, now, no matter what insane scheme they pulled. He knew all the best and all the worst and all the ugliest decisions Edamura had made and had yet to give up on him. Edamura didn’t trust Laurent as far as he could throw him. And yet at the same time, right here, and right now, he trusted him more than anyone else in the world.

Sappy, wishful thoughts aside, though, he really _ought_ to move before it got weird, so he started to push himself upright. Laurent’s arm, though, circled his waist and tugged him back against his side. “I don’t mind,” he said affably. His smile was bright and genuine — Edamura had learned to spot his conman smile versus his real one — and his eyebrow was quirked up in a way that was far too inviting and Edamura was too tired to be stubborn. So he gave in, and sank back against his shoulder. Or he intended to, but with Laurent’s arm around his back now, he slipped off and wound up, somehow, laying down in Laurent’s lap. And that should really have been too much, it really should, but Laurent just set his book down and moved his hand to caress Edamura’s hair and _oh_ , how long had it been since someone had touched him like that?

He shouldn’t. He _really_ shouldn’t. Not with Laurent. Laurent was flirtatious and dangerous and heady and a recipe for disaster. Except he was also right here, and warm, and safe, and his hand was carding through Edamura’s hair like that casual, gentle affection was the most natural thing in the world. And, well, Edamura had learned a long time ago that what he _should_ do wasn’t nearly that simple of a question.

His eyes had slid closed again as he reveled in Laurent’s touch. He cracked one eye open. Laurent was looking down at him, that soft and genuine smile still pulling at his lips. “I learned a new word from binging a show on the plane,” Edamura ventured.

“Oh?”

“Cocksucker.”

Laurent blinked, once, twice, processing what Edamura had said, and then threw back his head laughing. “What were you _watching_?” he asked. Edamura shrugged, the movement shuffling against the polyester of Laurent’s pants.

“Something called _Deadwood_ ,” he yawned. “The list was alphabetical and I gave up looking early.”

Laurent was still laughing, his hand stilled against Edamura’s hair. “You know,” he started, fighting to catch his breath. “You know, you have to use new words if you want to remember them.” He tapped a finger against Edamura’s nose. “You planning to use that one?”

“Mm, not really, I guess,” Edamura said. He made himself look up at Laurent’s face and watch his expression as he said, “It did give me some other ideas, though.”

Laurent stilled for a moment, meeting his gaze, and then the hand in his hair moved again, brushing the hair away from his eyes. There was something more deliberate in the motion this time, an intention behind the way Laurent’s thumb skimmed over Edamura’s forehead that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Did it now?” Laurent asked.

“Yes.” The word came out breathier than Edamura had intended. “If you’d be interested in hearing them.”

Laurent’s other hand had begun a trailing path up Edamura’s thigh. “I think I might be,” he said, teasing smile well in place. Edamura reached down to Laurent’s hand and guided it over his crotch. Laurent pressed down, fingers finding Edamura’s shape through his pants. Edamura made a small, involuntary sound in the back of his throat, canting his hips up, chasing the sensation. He looked up.

“Laurent,” he said. “Would you kiss me?”

A question touched Laurent’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything. The hand still in Edamura’s hair slipped around the back of his neck and tugged him upward, meeting Laurent halfway. His lips were warm and careful as they met Edamura’s, the scent of espresso lingering on his breath. Edamura’s hand came up to cup his cheek, holding the kiss in place for an extra heartbeat, and another, and another, and when Laurent didn’t break away he parted his lips and invited him in. They stayed there for several long minutes— exploratory, curious, warm minutes — while Laurent continued to rub Edamura through his pants. Edamura felt himself growing hard, starting to strain against his underwear, and made another small noise into the kiss. He felt Laurent smile against his mouth, lifting off no more than a hairsbreadth, still close enough for Edamura to feel the shape of the word as Laurent whispered, amusement tinging his voice, “Cocksucker.”

Edamura’s eyes slit open, looking into Laurent’s. “I was hoping that _you_ would,” he said, a bit breathless.

“Mm.” He pressed a kiss to Edamura’s jaw. “I would.”

All of a sudden, Edamura felt himself shifted out of Laurent’s lap and dropped back on the couch. Laurent had moved to straddle him, grinding against him for just a moment, hands bracketing Edamura’s head as he stared up in eager anticipation. Then, he moved back, trailing fingers along Edamura’s side and down to his hips, eliciting a shiver. He slipped off the couch to kneel on the floor, tugging Edamura’s legs further apart so one hung off the edge of the couch. Edamura sat halfway up, propping himself on an elbow as Laurent reached out to unzip his fly. Edamura, impatient, tugged himself free of his underwear before Laurent shooed his hands away. Laurent wrapped a hand around him, pressed a quick, teasing kiss to the head of his cock, and then opened his mouth to swallow the tip. Edamura made a strangled noise, entirely too high pitched, and pressed a hand against his mouth as Laurent’s tongue went to work, his hand a steady pressure on the base of his cock. The fingers of his other hand dug into the couch.

“Oh god, Laurent…” he groaned. He tilted his head back, eyes closed. “You feel so good, y— ah!” His hips jerked as Laurent hollowed his cheeks. Edamura scrabbled for balance. He could feel sweat dampening the back of his shirt. Laurent’s mouth left his cock and Edamura panted, one hand dug into the back of couch in a death grip.

“Hey.” Laurent’s voice was soft but assertive, reinforced by his free hand settling on Edamura’s hip, holding him still. “Look at me.”

Edamura did, and swallowed hard at that bright teasing smile, at the way Laurent kept his gaze turned up towards him as he moved back towards Edamura’s cock, pressing light kisses all along the length. He groaned when Laurent took him back in his mouth, biting his lip to try and stay quiet. “Nnn— Laurent, y—” He didn’t take his eyes off Laurent, off the way he looked with Edamura’s cock in his mouth, off the way his hand started to make quick, rough strokes at the base, fingers occasionally sliding down to tease his taint, while the heat in his belly curled unbearably tighter. Incomprehensible little stutters escaped Edamura’s mouth, cut apart by his efforts to silence his moans. “Laur— you— ah— anata—” English slipped away from him as Laurent took his cock deeper into his mouth, broken gasps of Japanese tumbling out without his input until he could no longer hold himself back.

Laurent swallowed when he came, his hand not ceasing his strokes along Edamura’s cock until Edamura had dropped back into the couch, limp and content. Laurent stood up then, moving up next to his head. “You’re— ah— you’re very good at that,” Edamura panted. He rubbed sweat off his forehead and pushed himself to sit up. He reached towards Laurent. “Let me—”

Laurent caught his hand. “Save it for me,” he said. “So I know there’ll be a next time.”

“Pff.” Edamura blew out a soundless laugh. “Cocksucker,” he said. Laurent grinned wide at him, and bent down to kiss him, full of satisfaction and promise.

“Whenever you want,” he whispered in Edamura’s ear.

*

Cynthia was going to stab a man through the eye with a fork one day, she just knew it. One day, there just wouldn’t be any patience or restraint left in her, and a man would open his mouth, and that would be it. She just hoped it would feel as satisfying as her fantasy. For the moment, though, she found some wellspring of forbearance left in her and kept walking past the cat-callers as they offered up increasingly vivid descriptions of what they’d like to do to her. She and Abby raised middle fingers in unison, and did not glance back.

“Honestly,” Cynthia said, several blocks away. “They can’t even be bothered to come up with _good_ lewd things to say. I mean, ‘pussy cake’? I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.” Abby made a face.

“I hate that word,” she said. “Pussy. It sounds all… wet and limp and gross.” Cynthia shrugged.

“I don’t mind it in principle, I suppose,” she said. “I haven’t really thought about it. What word do you like?”

“Cunt,” Abby responded without hesitation. Cynthia snorted.

“To the point, I guess,” she said.

“It feels like being in control,” Abby said, her voice dropping so low Cynthia almost didn’t hear her. She glanced sideways at Abby, who was staring determinedly ahead. “I like that.”

Cynthia reached over and linked arms with Abby, who startled at the touch but let it happen. “Hey,” she said. “Laurent and Edamame probably won’t be back to the hotel until three or four in the morning. If you wanted to get some stress relief before that…?”

Abby glanced up at her, her deep hazel eyes guarded as ever. After a moment, though, she ducked her head back down and said, quietly, “Yeah.” Cynthia smiled. Abby’s hand took advantage of their proximity to stray against Cynthia’s hip, sliding lightly but intentionally down the front of her thigh. There was a keen light in Abby’s eyes when she looked up at Cynthia again. “I do like your cunt,” she said, a hint of a mischievous smile touching her lips.

*

“I’m _just saying_ ,” Edamura spread an arm expressively as far as he could, wedged into the backseat of the car with Abby, “it is, objectively, a weird thing to _call yourself_.”

“You don’t call people motherfuckers in Japan?” Cynthia asked, leaning over the edge of the passenger seat to look back at them. Edamura sputtered.

“We— look, it’s— we have like four different ways to insult someone just by saying _you_ too directly. We don’t really do swear words the same way.”

“It’s a cathartic word to say,” Abby said. She had her legs pulled up to her chest, bare feet tucked against the edge of the seat, and was staring at the stratified mountains out the window. “Mo-ther- _fuck_ -er.”

“You think every swear word is cathartic,” Edamura pointed out.

“Kol khara,” Abby replied without looking at him. Edamura had been around her long enough to know what that meant. He ignored her.

“So what _are_ your swear words in Japanese?” Cynthia asked. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, loose strands at the nape of her neck blowing in the car’s A/C.

“I mean— we have a word for shit,” Edamura said, feeling a little defensive. “Kuso.” Cynthia hummed thoughtfully.

“Shit,” she said. She pointed a finger at Laurent over in the driver’s seat. “Merde.” She moved her finger to Abby. “Khara.” She looked at Edamura. “Kuso.” She held up four fingers and counted more off. “Mierda, merda, kak, kaka, tahi, Scheisse, and— damn, what did you say it was in Turkish, Abby?”

“Bok,” Abby provided, still watching out the window, gaze scrolling over the landscape. Cynthia snapped her fingers.

“Bok, that’s right. Bok. Bok.”

“Starting a collection?” Laurent asked.

“I like being able to tell men what I think of them in their own language,” Cynthia replied airily. “So wait, Edamame, you do have _some_ swear words?”

“Sure, of course, just not as many and not as… extreme as English,” he said. “Or extreme to us but not in literal translation.”

“I know a Japanese swear word,” Abby volunteered, finally looking away from the window. She gave Edamura a wide grin. “Shine,” she told him, her accent harsh but comprehensible. “Learned that one just for you.”

“You know you didn’t _have_ to repeatedly trick me into joining your team,” Edamura said. Abby sniffed.

“That’s Laurent’s fault, don’t look at me.”

“What does ‘shine’ mean?” Cynthia interjected.

“Literally it just means ‘die’,” Edamura said. “But it's…” He struggled for a comparison. "You're not supposed to say it," he said lamely. Cynthia hummed in thought at that. “English just wants to put sex and _fuck_ in everything, it’s overkill.”

“Fuck’s such a good word though,” Laurent put in. “French is good at disdainful, but _fuck_ feels like you’re punching somebody.”

“Don’t make me agree with you,” Abby said. “I hate agreeing with you.”

“All the same it’s _weird_ that ‘motherfucker’ means you’re cool.” Edamura said. “It makes no sense.”

“It’s not about what it means literally,” Cynthia observed. “Profanity often isn’t.”

“Edamame’s just bad at swearing,” Abby said.

“He did live in France for six months without figuring out that putain was not the same thing as poutine.” Laurent sent Edamura one of his glowing, teasing smiles over his shoulder. Edamura went red.

“I heard a kid yelling it in a restaurant! And no one even tried to stop him! What was I supposed to think?”

“That you’re an idiot,” Abby said. “Im-bé-ci-le,” she over-enunciated in French. Edamura glared at her.

“You _barely_ speak any more French than I do.”

“Yeah, but I can swear in it.” Abby gave him a wide, toothy grin. “’Cause I’m a badass motherfucker.”

Edamura threw his hands up in defeat.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone who actually speaks Iraqi Arabic has corrections for either of the swears Abby says, _please_ let me know. I did my best with Google but was unfortunately not able to talk directly with anyone who speaks the language, and especially given the variety of dialects and regional variation in Arabic I know it’s extremely possible that I made mistakes. I’m more than happy to fix them if I have.
> 
> “Pussy cake” is a real thing a human man said to me in the middle of the street once and never have I so badly wanted to turn around to a cat caller and ask what, exactly, he was even going for there.
> 
> Please please leave comments if you enjoyed!!!
> 
> Come find me:
> 
> tumblr: [@thatgirlonstage](https://thatgirlonstage.tumblr.com)  
> twitter: [@MuseofWriting](https://twitter.com/MuseofWriting)


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